


Two Kink Meme Drabbles

by awrenawry



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-30
Updated: 2009-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-04 01:08:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awrenawry/pseuds/awrenawry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two ficlets written for the Naruto kink meme, back in the day. Only one got posted, I think. I tend to gravitate towards the less-happy prompts. Please to be observing the warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Kink Meme Drabbles

## Ficlet One

"I'm telling you this because you will not survive, you know." The boy laughed, a high, careless sound. Itachi felt a shiver of something other than rage. A hand, hotter than human skin should be, ran down his chest; it was uncomfortably hot, even through the thick fabric of his robe. His limbs were pinned beneath him, tied to a ring of iron set in the floor; He couldn't do anything but stretch into the touch. He didn't need to be told, of course. He knew why the boy was doing this. Enemies, like weaknesses, must be eliminated. Still, the longer Naruto talked, the longer Itachi lived.

Three little syllables slipped out from between Itachi's clenched teeth, "Na-ru-to." Their edge had gone soft, as the hours past--had gone from rough, insistent, to quivering, unbelieving, beseeching. The blond played a dangerous game, still. He was dangerous.

The boy--was he still a boy, if he had Itachi bound like this?--laughed, a high, careless sound, and Itachi felt a shiver of something other than rage as a rough-skinned hand trailed the edge of his cheek, rubbing the day-old stubble on his chin. He was blindfolded, not entirely sure whether it was day or night, if it had been one day or two since he was captured--it hurt to say--by this boy. "I'm telling you this because you will not survive, you know." Conversational, still.

"It was always there." A hand, hotter than human skin should be, ran down his chest. He was pinned back, tied hands and feet to a ring in the floor--by the sound of Naruto's voice as the boy paced, because, most likely, he was too anxious, too juvenile, to sit still.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked. He understood why, of course. One's enemies--like one's weaknesses--must be crushed. Still, if Naruto kept talking, it was easier to keep track him through the room. "Why do you care?"

The answer was unexpected. "You look a little like him, you know. More so without the eyes. Your eyes are different." The boy spoke in sharp gasps, punctuated by the slight rustle of fabric.

Keep him talking. If Naruto was still talking, Itachi was still alive--and he would do anything to stay alive. "What?"

"I don't want his eyes to look like yours. I don't want him to be like you."

The boy's voice cracked, a little; there was a sharpness to it that hadn't been there, earlier. "I won't let him kill you. You are family. If I let him kill you, he'll be no better than you are." Naruto's voice was softer, now; he'd moved closer.

"So why you?"

"Because I have nothing to lose. I've already done every bad thing you can imagine." The temparature in the room rose as Naruto came closer, as though the fire were coming to him, not the boy. The temperature rose as his clothes were peeled away. They were matted to his flesh in places where blood had dried. These places the fox singed away the fabric. The smell of burning blood lifted up his memories of the night the demon had come to Konoha. The demon had never left.

He felt a different heat, a sterile heat, lift the hair from his naked chest below his navel. "Do you know what that is?" The boy asked. He didn't wait for an answer. "That is Rasengan." Naruto purred. "If you open your eyes, I will drop my hand and your dick will wind up a smear of meat halfway through the cellar. You know how long it takes to bleed to death." The boy was still hard. "If you open your eyes, you die. If you do anything but what I tell you, you die."

With his eyes closed, there was nothing to distract Itachi from the perpetual light show behind his eyelids, nothing to distract him from the memory of his mother's corpse sliding down onto the tatami, nothing to distract him from the memory of her slack expression--dead, her features held nothing, no anger, no fear, no disappointment. Dead, it was as though he had never existed.

"If you do what I tell you," Naruto whispered, flicking Itachi's ear with his tongue. This close, the scent of burning flesh filled his nostrils, and he wasn't sure whether it was his or the boy's. "You will still die." Naruto was was slender. "But you will die well, and no one will know what happened before you died." Itachi felt the cool blade of a kunai gently part the first layer of skin at his throat.

The boy straddled him like some perverse statue of Justice holding the scales of truth, weighing a different death in each hand, but here Itachi was the one blind-folded.

The heat centered between his legs sat astride Itachi's chest, forcing his arms under him in a way that was uncomfortable, now, and would be painful before long. "Suck." Itachi's breath came faster, too, his limbs stretched taunt with rage. He would do anything to stay alive. Naruto stayed just out of reach, flexing his hips forward so that Itachi could lap at the warm, dripping tip, but couldn't get it in his mouth. He ran his tongue along the underside of the cap and felt the boy shudder. The swirling Rasengan swept closer, the kunai at his throat dug deeper, drawing a drop of blood. "Suck."

He sucked. He would do anything to stay alive, and as long as the boy was happy, he was alive. He stretched forward, knocking his elbows against the hard floor beneath him, pushing his body up into the blade, wrapping his lips around the thick, delicately pulsing shaft. It tasted like soap and sweat; it tasted like heat, fire, and death; it tasted like nothing, it tasted like the look in his mother's eyes.

Biting down his shame, Itachi drew his lips along the shaft. As Naruto's breathing rose, the heat rose, until it pressed him down like the humidity on a summer day, seared into him like an ember bright red from the fire. The boy pushed forward stronger, now, his teasing forgotten. The muscles of his ass, resting on Itachi's stomach, tensed. Itachi swirled his tongue around the head the way a whore in Rock had once. It was enough.

A ripple ran through the boy, alternating waves of hot and cold. The fire, and the whirl of the wind, opened Itachi's eyes. He wanted to see. Red washed his vision, red flames trickled into the corners of the room, licking the walls. The boy--the fox--shuddered, and the room _rippled_. This was power. This was all the power he had ever wanted, so very close. Warm, semi-viscous fluid spilled over his chin, leaving a thin trail down his chest in the spot where the collarbone met the neck. The room burned red. The fox smiled with the boy's thin lips.

"I told you not to look."

## Ficlet Two

Consent implies alternatives. And the only alternative Sasuke could see, as he felt the tightness of the air passing through his throat, was that he would die and Itachi would live. He could see plenty else in the mirror, though. The constriction at his throat, slight though it was, made him feel bloated and sickly. Still, the cool, silken touch of the snake winding up his leg.

"It looks good on you," the bastard said.

The pale face staring back at him was cool, collected, emotionless. He was proud. He looked more like Orochimaru every day, as time spent underground bleached the color from his skin. Sasuke vowed he would never adopt that smile, however.

Orochimaru's basilisk stare sent chills through him. He's old enough to be your father, Sasuke though. Orochimaru shortened the collar a notch. His hands were like ice against the flushed skin of Sasuke's neck. Sasuke felt sweaty, blotchy, and terribly short of breath... His reflection stared back at him, calm as carved ivory, mouth open just a touch to pant. The dark band of leather at his throat was a shocking contrast to the pale expanse of skin the mirror, and Orochimaru's hands, bared. The sinuous thing nestled like a snake coiled about his neck just a finger's width above the curse-seal.

His stretched forward, setting his hands flat on the mirror's surface. He leaned into the mirror as if he could somehow merge with his reflection--quiet the terror in his stomach, which screamed at him somedays, "You've done the wrong thing!" He wanted to be the boy in the mirror.

The cool surface warmed quickly under his hands, slick with sweat. He didn't want to look himself in the eye.


End file.
